


Baby Came Home

by orphan_account



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Infidelity, M/M, Misunderstandings, No Smut, Punk! Jeonghan, but he really just looks the part, but it isn't what it seems, only implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 18:20:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13218387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: They ate mostly in silence, until they were both mindlessly picking up individual rice grains stuck to the sides of their bowls, unsure of whether or not it was okay to hold a casual conversation, because they weren’t casual, they were broken up. People who were broken up weren’t supposed to do this.Or, in which Seungcheol gets a knock on his door at three in the morning from someone he doesn't want to see.





	Baby Came Home

**Author's Note:**

> this is a mess. sub! cheol because we need more of that in the world. it's very minor and only mentioned like, twice, so.   
> also there is a scene where cheol is getting laid and he tells them to stop but they don't right away?? there's use of the word whore as well but only once. if that makes you uncomfortable please skip it!! i don't want anybody being uncomfortable while reading my works.   
> \+ i imagine hannie looking like that one tatted ulzzang,, yall know the one. han has one full sleeve and one half, plus some finger tats and some on his legs and chest. he also has a nose, lip and eyebrow piercing. (and a tongue piercing too because,,, the thought of han with a tongue piercing makes me nut)

 

A knock on his door at three am was not the way that Seungcheol would have liked to be woken. It was loud, and brash, and startled him nearly out of his skin. A million things flooded through his head as to why there was a knock on the wooden door; perhaps something had happened and his neighbour needed something, or something worse, and it was the police at the door- he hoped not. He resented it, but he trudged out of bed and walked sluggishly to the door, bunny slippers and all. 

One thing he did not expect when he opened the door was for a hard, alcohol-drenched kiss to be planted on his lips. Another thing he did not expect was for his ex-boyfriend to be the one kissing him. 

They had a rough past. Their relationship started out fine, happy and carefree, filled with love and appreciation, and it stayed fine until the end, when his boyfriend had gotten drunk and decided to get halfway to sleeping with some random at the party they’d gone to that night. He had insisted that it wasn’t his fault, that they had forced themselves onto him, but Seungcheol had shaken his head and broken up with him right then and there. He had walk home too, which made his hatred for the man grow stronger, because it had started to pour, and Seungcheol was at least a twenty minute walk from home. Since then, Seungcheol has never wanted to see anyone less than Jeonghan. Yet there he was, drunk, on Seungcheol’s doorstep. 

“Baby,” Jeonghan slurred as Seungcheol pushed him off. Seungcheol hated how Jeonghan’s kisses still sped his heart up. He hated how his stomach did a little flip at the pet name, and the fact that Jeonghan was still handsome as ever, even with his stringy blond hair and tired face. 

“You don’t get to call me that anymore, Jeonghan.” It stung a little bit, the words that left his mouth, because as much as he hated to admit and and as much as it made him feel awful, one teeny, tiny little bit of him still had feelings for Jeonghan. There was a small, minuscule, even, section of his brain reserved for the thought that,  _ maybe Jeonghan didn’t initiate it _ . It being the kiss between him and the stranger, whom Seungcheol had later found out the name of and had hated nearly as much as he claimed to Jeonghan. 

“What do you want?” he asked, not mad, or sad, simply tired. Tired from Jeonghan’s relentless crawling back to him. Tired from wanting so badly to forgive Jeonghan. Tired from it being three in the morning. Just tired. 

“You,” he said. “I want you back.” The words hit Seungcheol like a brick. He couldn’t help the sinking in his chest he felt every time Jeonghan told him that. He couldn’t help that teeny, tiny bit of his brain screaming  _ yes, yes, take him back _ , every time Jeonghan showed up. This wasn’t the first time he’d gotten drunk and knocked on his door. 

“You can’t have me back, Jeonghan. What you did was unacceptable.” 

Right after it had happened, a month or so back, Seungcheol had tried so desperately to rid Jeonghan from his memories by going to clubs and getting any guy that looked mildly intimidating to take him home, but none of them made him feel as good as Jeonghan did. He often found himself faking the moans, just to boost their confidence. The men were rough with him at times too, throwing him around, not in the way he liked, manhandling him in all of the wrong ways, never praising him like Jeonghan used to. All he got was a, “you good?” before they tied the condom and slipped their clothes on, leaving him alone and naked in his apartment. He hated it. Hated the way that they treated him like some sort of fuck toy, hated how they never asked him before they did anything, hated how he was left scrubbing their fingerprints off with scalding hot water in the shower. 

It had hit him after the last one that he had always gone for men that looked like Jeonghan. Always tall, dressed sleek in all black, with a leather jacket and a few tattoos in places that made them look intimidating. He always  _ wanted _ Jeonghan, but he could never  _ get _ Jeonghan. Maybe that’s why he kept trying, just for the hope that perhaps someone would be as good as him. 

“I want to explain.” Perhaps Seungcheol should have let him. Perhaps if he explained and it turned out that Seungcheol was the one at fault everything could go back to normal and Seungcheol wouldn’t have to put pillows on Jeonghan’s side of the bed so that it didn’t feel so lonely and he wouldn’t have to keep all of his old sweatshirts in the bottom of his closet anymore. 

“Jeonghan, you can’t expect-”

“ _ I love you _ .” It sounded louder in Seungcheol’s head than it was said aloud. It was brash, and less slurred, as if the words had sobered him up. Maybe that was Jeonghan’s problem. He was never a heavy drinker, not when they were dating, not before, but it seemed to be a habit that he picked up after the fact, but only in the late hours of the night when he was sad. Seungcheol hated that he was the cause of it. 

“You’re drunk,” Seungcheol told him, as if he didn’t already know himself. “Go home, Jeonghan.” Seungcheol’s eyes raked over Jeonghan’s now slumped over figure, studied his face; hollowed out with deep circles and heavy bags under his eyes, paler, now that he was looking. He looked awful. He was no longer the handsome man that Seungcheol had known months ago. He looked exhausted. 

“ _ I love you _ .” Broken. His voice broke on the last syllable. Seungcheol despised how his heart squeezed at the broken confession; he hated how badly he wanted to say _ it’s okay, I love you too _ , but his mouth was dry. 

“You should go,” he ordered gently. “Come over when you’re sober. Then you can explain.” Part of him hoped that Jeonghan’s hazy brain would remember the statement, but he knew that the chances were slim. He closed the door then, Jeonghan not putting up much of a fight, and he trudged back to his room. He sighed as he fell down onto his bed, eyes trailing over to the harsh red of his alarm clock, reading three twenty-three, then up to the ceiling. For the rest of the night, Seungcheol lay awake, thinking of all of the ways things could have been. 

 

-

 

It hurt. The man’s hands on him. It hurt really bad. Perhaps Seungcheol should have thought it through before going home with the man who drank whisky at the club like it was water. Perhaps he shouldn’t have gone out to the club at all. He knew better than to go out while he was upset. It always ended poorly for him. 

The man was strong, gripping him too tightly, being too rough, it  _ hurt _ . It wasn’t supposed to hurt. He never hurt when he was with Jeonghan. The fingerprints he left on Seungcheol’s skin burned and sizzled as he gripped tighter, tighter, tighter. He hadn’t even had the decency to stretch Seungcheol properly. It burned. He felt it all the way up his spine. It  _ burned _ . 

“Stop,” Seungcheol told him, “stop, you’re hurting me.” They never listened. Seungcheol always had to pry their hands of of him with as much force as he could muster, but he was strong. So strong. “Get the fuck off, you’re  _ hurting me _ .” 

He didn’t mean to give the man a bloody nose. He didn’t mean for his first instinct to be to headbutt him. It worked though. He recoiled, and Seungcheol was left to hastily put his clothes on, just as the man cursed, “you  _ bitch _ .”

“I told you to fucking stop and you didn’t.” he wiped the tears from his cheeks, standing up and finding his shoes on the other side of the room. 

“Didn’t think a  _ whore  _ like you would need stretching,” the man spat, shooting Seungcheol daggers as he pinched his bloody nose. The words stung, but not as much as his body did. “Get the  _ fuck  _ out of my apartment, you  _ bitch _ .”

It hurt as he walked out of the apartment into the cold, damp street, wet from the rain that had just passed. He was in the middle of nowhere with no money and a nearly dead phone, shivering and crying at two in the morning. He opened his phone and called Joshua. No answer. He tried Hansol. No answer. His phone was at five percent, but he tried calling everybody in his contacts.  _ No answer.  _ There was only one person left in his contacts, one whom he hadn’t blocked solely for the fact that there were still some of his belongings at their apartment. He didn’t want to, but he had no other chance. 

It rang twice, and Seungcheol was almost certain that he wouldn’t pick up, and that he’d be stranded out in the cold until the morning, but after one more ring, a voice picked up. 

“ _ Seungcheol? _ ” Honey. The voice was sweet like honey in that moment. 

“H-Hannie,” he whimpered, the name falling off of his tongue languidly after not being used in so long. It was almost foreign. 

“ _ Where are you? _ ” Seungcheol didn’t know. He looked around for a street sign. He told Jeonghan that the sign said he was somewhere near Jamsil station.  _ “I’ll be there in ten minutes at most, okay? Stay warm _ .” Dial tone. 

 

-

 

Jeonghan pulled up the the curb were Seungcheol sat, jumping out and rushing over to Seungcheol faster than he had ever seen Jeonghan move before. “Are you alright?” he asked, bending down and scooping up Seungcheol into his arms. He helped him stand, felt his heart break as Seungcheol shook his head and let out a sob into his chest. 

Seungcheol didn’t mean to start crying again. He didn’t mean to act like this in front of Jeonghan. Didn’t mean to cling onto him for dear life. Seungcheol couldn’t help it. It hurt. It hurt so bad. His muscles, the finger shaped bruises the man had left, his heart, hopelessly clenching in his chest. 

“He hurt me, Han,” Seungcheol said.

“Who hurt you, Cheollie?” Jeonghan asked him, threading his fingers through Seungcheol’s mop of loose waves. Seungcheol shook his head, but the bruises on his wrists were enough for Jeonghan. “Let’s get you home, okay?” Seungcheol nodded. They left the wretched place. 

 

-

 

“You can take my bed, Seungcheol,” Jeonghan told him once he’d calmed down and changed into a part of Jeonghan’s sweatpants and sweatshirts. They were soft against his heated skin, and they gave him a sense of comfort and safety that he hadn’t felt in so long. “I’ll take the couch.”

“No!” Seungcheol exclaimed suddenly, causing Jeonghan to startle gently before cocking his head to the side. “I mean, um, could you stay with me? Please?” 

“Are you, are you sure?” Saying this was out of character would be an understatement. Seungcheol wasn’t sure why he asked. Jeonghan had always made him feel safe, though, so he supposed that that was partially it. “I could if you wanted me to. Move over.” Seungcheol slid over to the left side, _his side_ , and allowed Jeonghan to crawl in next to him. 

It was quiet for a moment; what, with it being nearly three in the morning and all. Seungcheol found himself staring outside of the floor to ceiling windows, looking out at all of the other apartment buildings, the park down the road, the planes that flew by every so often. It calmed him. That, and the arm that had snaked its way around his waist. He should have gotten mad at Jeonghan for it. Instead, he pressed his back to Jeonghan’s chest and overlapped Jeonghan’s hand with his own. 

“He was too rough,” Seungcheol said out of the blue, “the man whose house I was at. He picked me up at the club earlier. I don’t even remember his name. I don’t even think he knew mine. I think he was too busy trying to use me as his own personal fuck toy to find out.” 

“Did he…?” Jeonghan left the question open for interpretation. 

“Hurt me? Yes. He left bruises in a lot of places, and he didn’t even try to stretch me before- you know. He didn’t listen to me when I told him to stop, that he was hurting me. I gave him a bloody nose,” Seungcheol told him. “He called me a whore. Told me that he didn’t think I needed stretching because of that.”

Anger boiled in Jeonghan’s veins. He clenched and unclenched his hand at Seungcheol’s side. How could somebody say such things, do such things to someone like Seungcheol? It made him feel sick to his stomach. “You know you aren’t, right?” he asked. “You’re not a whore. You’re gorgeous and funny and talented. You’re a sweetheart, you wouldn’t hurt a fly. That man, all of the people who think otherwise don’t deserve you. You deserve better than what they can give you. I hope you know that.”

Seungcheol didn’t mean for his eyes to get glassy. He didn’t mean for those few warm tears to run down the bridge of his nose. He knew for a fact that Jeonghan wasn’t just saying those things to make him feel better; he was saying them because he  _ meant _ them. Maybe Seungcheol had made a mistake in not allowing Jeonghan to explain what’d happened that night. Perhaps it could have stopped the things that had occurred over the past month. 

“Thank you,” he said. Seriously. Honestly. “It means a lot coming from you.” 

Jeonghan pressed his nose to the nape of Seungcheol’s neck, humming out quietly, “it’s only the truth.” He inhaled through his nose sharply, only to sigh through his mouth; hot breath causing the hairs on Seungcheol’s neck to stand. 

“Good night, Jeonghan.”

“Good night, Cheollie.” Once more, Seungcheol felt his heart squeeze in his chest. 

 

-

 

Seungcheol woke up to an empty bed. Jeonghan’s empty bed. His head flooded with too many emotions to process; the clearest being disappointment and something that closely resembled regret. Regret that he’d let himself fall back to where he was only a month ago. Regret that he was starting to forgive Jeonghan, even though he said he wouldn’t. And disappointment, disappointment that he’d woken up to Jeonghan’s side of the bed cold. He was sad for a moment, that Jeonghan had left him alone, until the scent of something savoury flooded his senses. 

He rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his palm, trying to wake himself up a little bit more, and he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, allowing his feet to run against the soft shag area rug before sliding on the slippers Jeonghan must have left for him. He stretched as he stood, cracking his back and yawning quietly before walking down the stairs of Jeonghan's open bedroom into the open area of his loft.

He suppressed a smile as he saw Jeonghan hunched over the stove, focused on whatever he was cooking, with the sleeves of his baseball shirt rolled up to show off the ink along the skin of his arms— had he gotten more? There seemed to be more colour to the tattoos than the last time Seungcheol had seen his naked arms. He waddled into the kitchen, rubbing at his face with a sweater-covered fist, smiling sleepily at Jeonghan, who barely turned to look over his shoulder at Seungcheol. 

“Good morning,” Seungcheol chirped, “what’re you making?” 

“I was planning on surprising you with breakfast, but you’re up now, so I suppose it isn’t much of a surprise, huh?” Jeonghan asked rhetorically. “Just some chicken and rice. I didn’t have enough groceries to make a soup or anything. I hope that’s okay.” 

“It’s better than okay,” Seungcheol said, the grin on his lips growing ever so slightly. “Would you like any help?”

“No, no, I’m okay. I’m just about to dish it up anyway. Go sit at the table while I put this stuff into bowls, alright?” Seungcheol nodded gently at him and turned on his heel, heading for the glass table that he’d always feared of breaking somehow. For a moment it almost seemed normal; Jeonghan telling him not to worry about helping, to go sit while he finished preparing the meal, for them to be conversing casually, like nothing had happened between them. It was like that night had never occurred, like it was just some bad dream and Seungcheol just had an overactive imagination. He wished it was that way. He had the marks to prove otherwise. 

Jeonghan came over shortly after, holding two wooden bowls and a pair of chopsticks each, alongside two mugs, presumably filled with coffee. He sat across from Seungcheol, placing a bowl and a set of chopsticks in front of him with a lopsided grin. “Sorry, I didn’t feel like putting the rice and chicken in separate bowls. It’s too much for me to wash after.”

Seungcheol shook his head in dismissal, looking at the inked section of Jeonghan’s arm. Without thinking, he grabbed Jeonghan’s wrist, running his thumb over the dark ink. “Did you add to it?” he asked. He noted how Jeonghan’s Adam’s Apple bobbed in his throat. 

“Yes, only a bit. The roses here and the writing here. I got the colour on the other arm touched up as well.” He pointed out each of the changes, and after a moment, retracted his wrist from Seungcheol’s soft grip. “I made you a coffee. Two sugars and no cream, right?” Seungcheol smiled and nodded at him, taking the mug from his outstretched hand. It almost felt normal. Almost. 

They ate mostly in silence, until they were both mindlessly picking up individual rice grains stuck to the sides of their bowls, unsure of whether or not it was okay to hold a casual conversation, because they weren’t casual, they were broken up. People who were broken up weren’t supposed to do this. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Seungcheol asked, at the same time as Jeonghan said, “I want to explain.” They didn’t laugh at the fact they’d both tried to speak at once, simply stared at each other in anticipation, waiting for the other to say something, anything.

“I’m going to let you talk,” he said, “I won’t interrupt you. I want you to tell me exactly what happened at that party.” Seungcheol started idly at Jeonghan from across the table. His coffee was long forgotten, going cold next to his empty bowl. Jeonghan looked as though he was trying to collect the right words in his brain; his eyes were screwed shut and his nose was wrinkled, Seungcheol watched him as he opened and closed his mouth, trying to get the words out. 

“He forced himself onto me,” Jeonghan said plainly, “I was drinking, yes, but I was sober enough to know that he wasn’t you and that I didn’t want him to kiss me. Even if I wasn’t still somewhat sober, the thought of doing something like that would never even cross my mind. He pinned my arm behind my back so I couldn’t move and forced himself onto me, Seungcheol. I didn’t want it. You have to believe me.” 

Silence fell over them then, the only noise in the loft being the gentle hum coming from the heater blasting in warm air. Seungcheol pursed his lips. “Did you know him?” 

“Yes,” Jeonghan said. Seungcheol looked at him with a blank face, awaiting the rest of what he had to say. “He was an ex of mine. It was blackmail, I think. I knew he was at the party, but I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d worry. He waited until you were in the room to do that.”

“Why would be do that?”

“He was an asshole. He never got over me. What we had wasn’t love, it was simply him wanting something to fill his time with. When I left him, he told me he’d get back at me somehow. He had an obsession, Seungcheol. He did it because he wanted to hurt me. Hurt us.” 

More silence, and Seungcheol ran his finger around the rim of his cold mug. “Okay,” he said quietly. “I believe you.” 

“You do?” he asked. His voice was drenched in something. Hope. 

“Yes.” Seungcheol felt his eyes water. He should have listened the first time. It would have saved both of them so much hurting that they didn’t need. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his bottom lip quivering. 

Jeonghan reached a hand across the table and ran his thumb over the tear track on Seungcheol’s cheek. “Don’t be sorry, baby. Why are you crying?”

“I should have listened to you the first time, Han, I should have believed you when you told me you didn’t start it. I let what I saw get in the way of the fact that I knew you loved me and would never do something like that. I’m sorry.” Seungcheol let Jeonghan tilt his chin up and wipe away the hot tears running down his cheeks, though he didn’t make eye contact with him. Guilt washed over his body; he felt it in his shoulders and in the pit of his stomach, in his fingers and thighs, all over him. He couldn’t shake it off. 

“Hey, look at me,” Jeonghan coaxed quietly, watching Seungcheol slowly raise his red eyes. “I don’t blame you for anything, Cheol. You had a valid reason to be upset. It isn’t your fault.” Seungcheol sniffled quietly, but nodded his head nonetheless. “And I still love you. Don’t think for a second that I stopped.” 

“I love you, too.” It was easy, saying the words that had been on the tip of his tongue for so long. It made a tension he didn’t know existed dissipate from his shoulders and a rush of relief crash over him. 

“Are we good now? Is there anything else you want to talk about?” 

Seungcheol shook his head. “No. We’re good.” Jeonghan smiled at him, a warm genuine smile that tugged at the ring in Jeonghan’s lip. “Do you mind heating up my coffee? It went cold during my tear-fest.” Jeonghan laughed quietly, but nodded. It felt normal now. Completely and utterly normal. Seungcheol liked it that way. Jeonghan did too. 


End file.
